Home Bound
by Pop Horror
Summary: Frerard.  Gerard and Mikey have secrets, serets that force them to live on the sidelines, secrets that force them to live alone.  But when Mikey craves the friendship of fellow schoolmate Frank, Gerard isn't sure if the secrets are worth it any more.
1. Chapter 1

**Yet another multichap from little ol' me! Yay!**

**So here's the basics... I don't own anything except the plot. This is completely fictional.**

**Oh, and another thing, if the chapter is in italics, like this one, it means that it is a memory from gerard's childhood, when he was 11 and mikey was 9. If it's not in italics, it's what is happening currently, so gerard is 17 and Mikey is 15... Cool?**

_Mikey took his seat at the dinner table and reached over for the jug of juice, his hand trembling a little under the weight._

_"So how was school today?"_

_Mikey looked up at the sound of his mother's voice._

_"It was fine, Mom..."_

_"Just fine?" Her voice was scratchy, bored, perhaps even slightly disgusted, like she had hoped for a more entertaining answer. I didn't blame her though. She worked long hours, most days doing some form of overtime, and any time she did get at home, she was cooking cleaning, checking both mine and Mikey's homework. Her life was busy and dull, so maybe the one thing she could attempt to find interest in also being just as tarnished, was like heartbreak._

_"Yeah. Just fine"_

_"It's always 'just fine' with you, isn't it? You've always gotta be so routine, don't you?" she sneered as she dished out a handful of leafs from the salad bowl to her place, "it really does get quite sickening..."_

_"I'm sorry, but-"_

_"No buts, Mikey", her voice raised suddenly, almost shouting, before sinking back into her nonchalant, depressed tone she always used, "When you've finished eating, you'll load the dish washer, okay?"_

_Mikey nodded as he picked away the breadcrumbs from a fish finger, dissecting it and finally nibbling, despite being far from hungry. I'd noticed that he never ate that much these days, but something always told me it was a little more than loss of appetite._

_Finding my voice for the first time in the duration of the meal, I politely excused myself from the table. Just one more person needed to use their vocal chords that night._

_"Why?" my mother hissed, "Can't you wait till we've all finished?"_

_"I need to finish homework. Is that okay?"_

_"On you go son, I'll clear up your plate..."_

_My head shot round. For the first time that night, and possibly many before hand, my father had spoke without being directly asked a question. It was only when my mother's eyes pierced him like daggers that I remembered why he held such a dedicated silence._

_I was surprised the man had managed to stay vaguely optimistic over the years. Nothing had turned out the way he had planned- he had never got the job he dreamed of, he barely made enough money to keep the family up and going- it was all, ever so slowly, crumbling away from him. Everything had aged and rotted. even my mother, his child hood sweetheart, the one he had got down on one knee for at the here age of sixteen, the woman he had promised 'forever and always' had molded into a distortion of the girl he had fell for. Now she was bordering on her forties- too old for love, to weary for fun. Her youth was a cripple._

_But my father never did show his pain. He masked it, hid it, glazed it with a thick layer of courage and enthusiasm. It was only when I watched him sit in the driveway for ten minute, maybe more, simply bracing himself to enter the house that I could feel his sorrows._

_Nervously chewing on what remained of my thumb nail, I left the table, quietly exiting the cramped kitchen and making the descent down the stair leading to my basement-come-bedroom. It wasn't much, but it was home._

_Pushing the door over, I fell, collapsing on my bed, my limbs aching and flesh worn by the wind._

_Things were stressful those days, I couldn't deny it. But I felt no pity towards myself. I wasn't the worst off in the bunch- I had friends, a roof over my head, I did well in school, I'd never been bullied to any major degree, I'd never been abused by either of my parents- it was just the little things. All those bitchy comments and dull tones were barely sparks in reality, but with a little fuel they could burn and scold my skin like wildfire._

_So I would ignore it. Even when my skin was charred and incinerated, I would suffer through. I would not complain, no matter what. Complaining only made things worse._

_So, there I lay, studying the ceiling. And there I would lie till the morning sun broke through the clouded sky and my alarm clock broke through the silence._

_But that was just another ordinary day for me._


	2. Chapter 2

**HEY GUYS! 'Got a new chapter fo' ya's! in this one, gee is 17 and mikey is 15... If my calculations are correct...**

**By the way, the last chapter should have been in italics, so I've changed it now. Sorry if I confused anybody!**

Mikey took his seat at the dinner table and reached over for the jug of juice, his hand trembling a little under the weight.

"So how was school today?"

Mikey looked up at the sound of my voice.

"It was good. How was work?"

I smile, half-heartedly. Deep down I want to tell him that it was hell- getting up at five a.m. to do a paper round, followed by another repetitive day in the comic store, stalking shelves and extra hours- but of course, I couldn't hurt him, not after everything…

I shudder and cut the thought short.

"Yeah, it was alright. You need any help with your homework tonight?"

Mikey laughs a little and shakes me away with his hand.

"You know you can't help me with homework- You're too much of a dumb-fuck!"

I guess that's what happens when you leave school at the age of eleven- you lose the ability to help your little brother with his algebra homework as what, to the average student of your own age, is a simplistic equation transforms into complex jumble of symbols and numbers and letters and god only know what else. Sometimes I regret leaving so early, but then see Mikey's smile and hear his giggle and feel his optimism, and suddenly all my worries are gone; replaced. I suddenly realise that yes, we may not be the luckiest siblings in the world, but things could have turned out so much worse- we could have been homeless, separated, maybe even dead.

I still have life in my lungs.

I don't find it fair to complain.

We sit in silence for a while- not verbal silence; the air is rich with buzzing conversation and laughter, but emotional silence, something we didn't get much of while our parents were still here. Back then, no one ever talked, but the reason nobody talked was because they were scared, _terrified_ perhaps, so they kept their lips sealed and just got on with things.

These days we talk, but we talk because we don't feel anything- I won't let Mikey feel anything. I won't let _myself_ feel anything. Feelings only cause pain and betrayal, so I'll live without them, thank you very much.

Feelings, like knowledge, are evil, so I promised myself that these two things, if nothing else, would be the two things I would protect Mikey from.

Because I can't let Mikey know what happened that night.

He just _can't _know.

He knows there's a secret alright, and he knows he needs to keep the secret that there _is_ a secret, secret. What he doesn't know is what he's supposed to be hiding. All he knows is that we must lurk in the shadows; we must mask our identities, be ourselves a secret. He doesn't know why.

I know I'm going to have to tell him one day. God, I said I would tell him when he turned thirteen, but now his thirteenth birthday is long gone, like the autumn leaves, perished and forgotten. He must be what… fifteen now? Fuck, that's right! He's going to be an adult soon, and then I've _got_ to tell him, or who knows what will happen.

"There's a new kid at school."

I'm woken from my trance by the unusual subject. He talks about school a lot, but the kids at school? We don't talk to people. We can't talk to people- we're lurkers.

"His name's Frank. He's pretty cool."

My brow furrows, disapproving.

"You've talked to him?"

Mikey nods, failing to see the obvious problems with his actions. "We hang about at lunch and we always sit beside each other in classes…"

My fingers drum off the wooden surface of the table. "And you think it's okay to do that?" I can feel my blood simmer in my veins.

"Yeah, I don't see why not…"

"FUCK SAKE, MIKEY!" My fist pounds against the table, sending food flying and drinks toppling. "You think I've been protecting you and working my ass off for you all these years just for you to go socialising with the first 'cool' fucker that comes along? Did you not think they might, oh I don't know, work out our secret?"

"_Our _secret?" Mikey spat with venom so strong it could blister and burn the skin from my face, "I don't know a fucking thing about this secret, so why the hell should I be keeping it?"

My jaw bobbed open, but before I could let a single slither of a sound escape, Mikey had rose from the table and stormed over to the kitchen door. Pausing slightly as he went to slam it shut, he cocked his head to the side, his eyes peering through his glasses, hatred rimmed.

"Oh, and by the way, I invited Frank over. He's staying tomorrow night."

And with his final words spoken, he hammered the door shut before ascending the stairs to his bedroom, most likely to sit and sulk until he fell asleep.

I let my head fall into my hands as I smothered a sob with a deep intake of oxygen. I wouldn't cry, it was just a silly argument- it meant nothing.

But it sure hurt a shit load for being nothing.

I like to imagine things like that as pinpricks- yes, it hurts at the time. It stings and nips and burns, but as soon as something more significant steps into the way, it will be forgotten and healed. Yeah, that's the best way to get through things like this.

So after clearing up the plates of half-finished food from the table, I crawl away to my layer, the one place I feel completely safe and sound. It hasn't changed much over the years- it has the same transformers bed sheets, the same mangled grey carpet, the same dingy wallpaper, peeling and curling from the damp, dark enclosure- but mainly because I don't have the money to change it.

I don't have anything, to be honest. The only reason we still have a roof o ver our heads is because our parents had paid the mortgage off before… that happened. But apart from that I have nothing. No friends, no qualifications, not even anyone who _remembers _me. When you just stop turning up at school at the age of eleven, you'd expect someone to notice you being missing, especially when your younger brother still attends full time education. But no, for me they barely acknowledged my absence. I mean, yeah they phoned the house a few times, but when nobody answered, they simply gave up. It just shows a lack of interest if you ask me.

So, there I lay, bathing in the glimpse of light that pushed its way through the tiny window of my basement window, simply thinking about, well, I wasn't quite sure. I wasn't really thinking, more deliberately _not_ thinking.

Sometimes it's nice to clear your head, make a little breathing space.

But that was just another ordinary day for me.


	3. Chapter 3

**So, at last, here's the next chapter! (:**

_It was Friday. Just an ordinary Friday, or so I thought as I threw open the front door on my way home from school, immediately marching through to the living room, plonking my tiny body on the sofa, my rucksack being fired to an unknown location around the room, only to be greeted by my mother running through, hoover in hand, screaming at me to "not mess up the house"._

_I concluded that this meant either one of two things- my mother had been sent home early from work, ill, and was now trying to scare the sickness out or her body through the use of strenuous cleaning, or she had taken the day off because Uncle Jack was coming over to stay._

_Since my Mother showed no apparent signs of illness, I guessed it was the latter of the two options, which was probably the better one._

_Uncle Jack lived a couple hours' drive away, so we rarely ever got to see him, but when we did, there was always a big deal made out of it. You see, Jack was my mother's "favourite brother", so he would stay for the weekend, bringing with him a large selection of gifts for us, and a generally more jovial mood for my mother. I couldn't complain about that._

"_Go and tidy your room, Gerard… And look out your good shirt… You know the nice one Granny got you at Christmas?"_

_Grunting, I retrieved my rucksack from the floor and trudged down the stair to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. That was the only downside to Uncle Jack coming over- having to make a good impression. But then again, it didn't leave much of a shadow on the fact that my mother, for what was usually the first time in months, would have an enthusiastic approach to life, lightening the mood of the household, even just for a few days._

_Before I knew it, Mikey and I were sitting on the living room sofa, both neat and well dressed, watching in bemusement as our Mother ran round the house, screaming at my Father – who was looking just as puzzled as us- to go and change, as she made last minute changes to the house-rearranging fruit bowls, straightening photo frames and the likes- as the doorbell chimed away in the background, signalling our uncle had arrived. _

"_Jack! Come in! You must be freezing- you don't even have a jacket!"_

_Our mother returned through several minutes later, our uncle by her side, her face scarred with a grin._

_I'd always thought of our uncle as a bit of an odd man. To be fair, he was nice, but he was too nice. He always reminded me a little of the men that teachers would warn you about during long, rambling lectures about stranger danger, the sort of men who you would cross the road if approached on the street. And my thoughts of him on this particular day were no different- I edged closer only slightly as he outstretched his arms, embracing my brother and I in a tight, rib-crushing hug. I'd never been too fond of hugs from relatives, but hugs from him were the worst. The stench of aftershave and body odour made me gag, and he always held them for too long, shaking our bodies from side to side like rag dolls, telling us how much we'd grown, which we were pretty sure we hadn't done that much of. _

_The rest of the evening went through as it normally would- we would have dinner, my mother would boast at how fabulous Uncle Jack's life was ("Oh, he manages a super market, and he makes so much money, and he drives an expensive car! Wouldn't it be nice if we had all that, darling?") before we would relocate to the living room and spend the night watching television and drinking wine… well, Dr Pepper for Mikey and I. Later, usually around one a.m. as we would be permitted to stay up late on this "special occasion", "the children" would be shooed off to bed, allowing us to fall asleep to the sound of music, shouting and drunken laughter._

_It was only in the dead of night that things changed a little. I can still remember waking up, unaware of any time, in a deadly silent house, a dry burning sensation inhabiting my throat. Still partially asleep, I rose from my bed and made my way through to the kitchen, seeking a drink._

_The house was too silent. The only thing that echoed through the seemingly empty house was my footsteps and, when I turned it on, the running water of the tap hitting glass. Taking a large gulp of the liquid, I listened through the silence, trying to find something, anything that would make the house feel more natural…_

_And then I heard it. Some form of movement, like the rustling of clothes, but fainter, like the creator was trying to stay unheard. Sitting my now empty glass on the drainer, I left the kitchen to investigate, making my way through to the living room._

_I nearly screamed when I opened the door, but I didn't. I couldn't. I dropped my jaw, yet no noise escaped, like any vibration in my throat had been grasped and stopped by a set of hands, choking me and causing me to nearly faint, asphyxiated. What I found in front of me was just too wrong._

_Because, as I my father lay, crashed out on one sofa, my mother and uncle sat on the one opposite._

_Kissing._

_Brothers and sisters aren't supposed to kiss._

_Are they?_

_Before I could question the matter any further, or anyone was given the chance to detect my presence, I had sprinted, or more toppled, back down the stairs to my bedroom, the only place I could ever feel fully safe._


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh I know what you're thinking...**

**"When exactly ****_was _the last time you updated? We thought you were dead!"**

**Well, thankfully I'm not dead, I'm just slow at typing and had major writer's block with this chapter...**

**Also, on a side note, does anybody here like Muse? Or would anyone here be interested in a sort of BellDom/Frerard crossover thing as my next 'major project'? or should I just stick to the usual frerard stuff? i want to know if anyone would read a muse thingy if I posted it before I actually get too bogged down in it! :L**

I rattle the chewed up remains of my finger nails against the side of the porcelain mug, my gaze caught out the window, my face screwed up in contemplation as I wondered when my brother and his 'friend' would return home.

"Quarter past four", I muttered to no one in particular, "Surely he should be home by now?"

It was pretty obvious that Frank had kidnapped him, and God only knows what the sick, twisted bastard was doing to him at that moment in time. Raping him? Torturing him? Perhaps not- perhaps he was already dead!

I felt vomit rise again, but I held it down.

This senseless labyrinth of nausea and anxiety was what prevented me from working today- money wise, we could not afford it, but sanity wise, I bloody well needed it. _God_, I needed it. My brain was too twisted and contorted by the gruesome images of my baby brother being abused and beaten to survive an afternoon working.

Deep down though, I knew these images were nothing but that- images- yet I still couldn't free the pit of my stomach from the horror. And even if I could, I still wanted to see this _Frank_ as soon as he entered the house.

As soon as he entered _my_ house.

I'm not afraid to admit I was terrified- Frank would be the first guest inside these putrefying walls since Uncle Jack. And I was terrified of Uncle Jack.

No, in fact, not Uncle Jack, but the things Uncle Jack did.

I was terrified of what Frank could do.

What Frank could find out.

My stomach churned as I sprung to the bin, but thankfully I kept the contents of it down.

And the door creaked open.

"Hey Gee, that's us home…"

My head whirled round and my back cracked up from slumping over the bin. Through greasy strands of shadow, I observed, in great detail, our new guest.

He was small, petite, slim, his miniscule figure emphasized with tight fitting clothing, starting with a kicked in set of once white trainers on his feet, ending in the hood pulled over his head, protecting his ears from the outside chill. His skin, yet quite milky, glowed with life and his eyes, dusted emerald, twinkled with optimism and hope.

"Frank, this is my brother Gerard, and Gerard… yeah, this is Frank…"

Pulling his hands from his pockets (which I noted had the word 'Halloween' printed on them in biro ink) he yanked down his hood, revealing hair which, although dyed and cut, had no real care or work put into it, like it had barely even been brushed before he ran off to school, or he had too much life to live to think about appearances.

Stupid appearances.

Smiling a little, he held out one of his hands to shake mine. Trembling, I reached mine out too, mildly grasping his hand and nearly jumping from how firmly he took mine.

"It's nice to meet you Gerard!"

My face flushed, I nodded a little before retrieving back my palm. I couldn't quite put my finger on what, but there was something weird about this guy, something that even by the mere presence of him, sent shivers up my spine, electrified me. People never did this to me before. People were just people- weaknesses, lies…

But this person was different. Already, I could tell.

"Me and Frank are gonna go up to my room… you can come up with us, y'know, if you want to?"

I shook my head a little before busying myself with beginning to retrieve pots and plates from cupboards.

"I've got to make dinner for you and stuff… I don't have time…"

My lies were useless.

"Yeah, stop talking piss! You work too hard; we'll order pizza tonight- just come and relax!"

"Relax?" The word tasted peculiar on my lips- it wasn't a sound I was used to forming, something I'd never experienced. Relaxing had never been an option.

I didn't know how to relax.

Cautiously, forever learning, I followed the boys to Mikey's room.

And I simply sat there. I sat there, silent, watching my younger sibling be _normal_. Just doing normal teenaged guy activities with his normal teenaged guy friend- playing video games, laughing, joking… He was just like any other kid that I would see hanging with their friends in the street- he was happy, light hearted, totally unaware of anything else that could be happening around him.

It didn't feel real.

Or maybe, it felt too real. Maybe, this was my first witnessing of the real Mikey. Maybe, this Mikey I had known for all these years was simply a cover up- the shy, brittle, scared child I cared for and loved. Maybe, this was what he was like all the time, out of doors.

Or maybe, this was what it was like to have a friend.

Maybe, for the first time, he had gained a little self-confidence, as for the first time he had something to feel confident about- that somebody, apart from his brother, _liked_ him and _wanted_ to spend time with him.

For the first time, someone didn't try to kill him.

My head began to throb. I needed to stop over thinking things- I guess that was one of my weaknesses, overthinking.

So I tried to concentrate on Frank instead- on the way his voice slipped through conversation like satin, the way that when he laughed his whole face echoed his emotion, contorting into different shapes as his giggles convinced me that he was little more than a child, teasing the air like tickling fingers.

And before I know it, my voice too is slipping into conversation, maybe not as gracefully as my peer's- I sound like a girls, squawking, high pitched notes, strangled and forced out like audible vomit- but I'm talking. I'm talking to _him._ I shouldn't be talking to anyone, never mind some random teenaged guy who I've just met. And I'm talking to him so easily- we're talking like we've known each other for years. I'm talking to him like I have no secret to hide.

Yet I feel comfortable around him. Something clicks- I'm not sure what, but there's something about this guy that I just _like_. Even the little things about him cause me to grin uncontrollably- the way he uses his hands in conversation, the way he runs his fingers through his hair as he thinks. And when his eyes catch mine, when it feels like it's just me and him in this big wide world, it gives me goose bumps.

It's only then I realise that for the first time _ever_, I might have a crush on someone.

And the worst part is I don't even feel guilty.

In fact, I feel just great.

I've never felt better.


	5. Chapter 5

**I**** got another chapter of this up! You guys proud? You should be.**

**Also, a big thank you to the anonymous reviewer! :D Your review made my day, in all hoestly! I would have replied to you screaming my words of love, but I couldn't, which sucked... **

**ANYWAY...**

**Enjoy! ;D **

_To this day, I've never seen so much rain as I did the day after the dreaded night._

_Everything shone- the once dull, dusty roads now glistened and sparkled as bullets of precipitation were blasted down from the greasy, grey sky, causing ripples of glitter to dance across the surface of the ocean we once called our street. Watching the heavy rain pound against the window, I sat in silence as the shudder of the glass chilled me to the bone and captured my senses._

_I couldn't speak._

_In fact, I couldn't even think._

_Everything just made me feel so sick. Everything reminded me of the things my eyes had seen. The image was scarred into my memory- eternally burned into my retina. Everything I looked at reflected back the same recollection._

_The way my mother made breakfast for my father- happy, jovial, and carefree- made me feel sick._

_The way she was clearly flirting with her own brother- which I once would have considered as a sign of strong friendship- made me feel sick._

_The way the walls of our home were still speckled with wedding photos- of a time where my parents were still youthful and hopeful- made me feel sick._

_A home? Surely I couldn't call this a home anymore? It was more like a prison._

_The fact that it was still considered a home made me feel sick._

_And the fact that I couldn't tell a soul. I couldn't tell the culprits- that was destined for trouble. I couldn't tell my father, as I knew too well that it would simply rip him to shreds from the inside out, to find out that the only person he had ever loved had never loved him back. I couldn't even tell Mikey, as trying to explain the concept of 'incest', something I had just managed to wrap my head around myself, to the pre-adolescent boy wasn't going to be easy._

_I was alone with my secret._

_But I survived that day. I persevered. But no matter how I try to put it, how I try to remember it, it will always be the longest, most tormenting day of my life._

_It was worse than the night that would follow._

_And God that night was bad._

_The day finally passed though, with relative normality despite the current circumstances, and went to bed as I would have any other Saturday night. And as I lay in bed, my only lullaby the pitter-patter of rain against my tiny basement window, I drifted away into a sleep filled with restless dreams and stirring nightmares._

_I was disturbed several times that night, but only once was I properly woken. Only the time where the house was silence bar the thrashing rain shuddering the walls of the house and a muffled murmuring from outside my door- grunting, alcoholic and bitter. The very sound of it made me retreat from my slumber and the lids of my eyes to be glued open in a sudden alarm of security._

_There was a loud thump. Before I knew it, I was plunging beneath my duvet cover, my eyes screwed shut tight, arms wrapped tight around my knees._

_There was a monster coming to get me, and this was the only way I could hide._

_Refusing to look, I simply listened._

_A door knob screeches._

_There's a load thud of wood meeting plaster._

_Footsteps shuffle forward._

_There's heavy breathing- staggered, perhaps even stressed._

_I'm hit by the acquainted smell of booze and sweat- the familiarity that could only belong to one man- my uncle._

_There's a gentle touch on my shoulder, causing me to hold my breath, pretend to be sleeping…_

_My duvet gets whipped off._

_My eyes pop open. I swallow the whole room of air._

_CRACK!_

_All I can feel is pain- A sharp, hot, burning pain, starting in my skull and growing throughout my form, like weeds infecting the garden of my body. My figure trembles, my vision blurred like the lenses of my eyes had been painted over, as I try to pull myself up from the bed, but my body is smashed down again by what feels like knuckles._

_A fist?_

_I try to gulp down some air, but my lungs refuse to breath causing my head to spin, dizzy and woozy, destroying my balance. Giving up, my cheek presses against my pillow, as I close my eyes. It feels warm and sticky and wet._

_I guess you could say I was ready to accept death now._

_The last thing I remember before it all went black was the click of my bedroom door._

* * *

><p><em>I wasn't expecting to wake up again, but somehow, I did. I had no idea of the time- I could have been knocked out for minutes, hours, days. All I knew was that the air was still and the sky was still covered by a thick blanket of darkness.<em>

_Crawling from what was once the relative safety of my bed, I climbed up the stairs to the rest of the house to investigate, my chest pounding, yet my mind numb. I wasn't afraid- I was still dreaming of a reality so far away from the one I was living._

_Of course, the first place I checked was Mikey's room. The protective older brother tucked away deep inside my chest wouldn't let me have my priorities any other way- I was a sucker at heart for that kid._

_As I pushed open Mikey's bedroom door, I couldn't ignore the swarm of butterflies bursting out of my insides, telling me that what I find on the other side may not be the Mikey I knew and loved. In fact, the Mikey on the other side had a high probability of being dead._

_But I had to thank my angels._

_The Mikey I found was asleep- untouched. He was still beautiful, young and alive._

_Closing the door lightly behind me, I sat at the top of his bed, lightly patting his head with my hand, making sure to be tender enough not to wake him up, watching as his chest moved up and down, steady like clockwork. I couldn't help but notice that with every stroke, more of this peculiar black liquid was staining the skin of his forehead and the mousy brown locks of his hair._

_Oh, my blood._

_A little horrified, I drew back my hand, gazing down at the sleeping child as I chewed upon the thumb nail of my retracted hand, noticing how it tasted metallic and tangy. Yup, I must have been covered in the stuff, but I was too scared to switch a light on or look in a mirror to see how stomach-churning my wounds were._

_Content that Mikey was as safe as he could be, I left the room, cautiously making the journey next door to my parents' room._

_And then it hit me._

_The smell._

_Blood smells different when it's not your own._

_I couldn't see anything when I first went in, but as I made my way closer to my parents' bed, the source of the smell became clear. My father lay alone on the mattress. He wasn't moving. He was soaked in crimson. He had several gaping stab wounds to his chest._

_He was dead._

_The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, lying in a pool of my own vomit- I had passed out again, but this time not because of blood loss, but because of sheer panic and fear._

_I couldn't look at the figure lying on the bed. I couldn't look at how his clothes were flushed with blood, or how his ribs poked out of the brutal slices in his chest, or how his face, although badly beaten, seemed at peace._

_So I ran back down stairs._

_I ran away from the truth and bumped into reality. For, when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I couldn't help but notice the shining lights from outside- head lights. I couldn't help but notice the buzz of a car engine roaring into life._

_Placing my face to the living room window, gazing through the rain and fogged up glass, I watched as my uncle's car drove away._

_My mother sat in the passenger seat._

_She was smiling._


	6. Chapter 6

Frank kept coming over.

Every Friday, without fail, for the next three months, Mikey would bring the boy to our doorstep, invite him in for dinner, and prepare for him a makeshift bed on his bedroom floor. He was practically _asking _him to destroy our lives.

I hated the boy. No matter how pleasant I tried to behave around him, I was perfectly sure that he could hear the stern "discussions" I would have with Mikey behind closed doors every time the _creature_ graced our house. He didn't belong here. He was nothing but trouble- A plague. A swarm of locusts that would feast upon our safety and watch it slowly rotted into a carcass of vulnerability and insecurity.

Infection.

He could crawl into any tiny cut or sliver, slowly devour away at the flesh, leaving festering, blistering sores of decay, leaking with putrefying blood and puss and gore. In the end, there would be nothing left of us but skeletons, everything I had ever protected scraped from our bones by the simple slip of mistake- that this pestilence was let into our lives.

I often had nightmares, bone chilling, spine curling nightmares, in which Frank would slice a raw, rancid nail down my torso, digging it into my flesh, leaving railway lines of septic crimson down my chest. I would be lying in bed, squirming, screaming, but no matter how much I tried, I could not move, like some sort of invisible chain had me tied to the mattress. And all I could do was watch- watch as the strokes got longer, deeper until I could feel the harsh metallic crunch of steel against rib bone, waking me from the torture.

But sometimes I had dreams.

Once, for a whole week running, I had a dream in which I would see nothing but Frank's face- smiling laughing. It wasn't creepy, or uncomfortable as one might have imagined, instead it was _nice._ I would simply admire how his face changed into different shapes with different emotions- angel dimples, glinting eyes, peaceful breath…

But sometimes the dreams were different. _Very_ different. Sometimes I had the sort of dreams that, in the past, I would only experience with beautiful, voluptuous girls from magazines and movie screens.

Never before had I thought of a guy like this. Never mind a guy I _knew._

But I tried to put those dreams to the back of my mind.

"So, I'm guessing _Frank_ is coming over again today?" I stated one Friday morning at breakfast, perhaps with slightly more spite tinging my voice than originally anticipated.

"Umm… yeah, is that okay?" Mikey mumbled as he nibbled slightly on the corner of a slice of buttered toast, more dictating his plans as opposed to consulting them.

"Well, I guess it's just going to have to be, considering I never get to voice my opinion…"

Mikey wheezed slightly as he rose from the table, picking his rucksack from the tiled kitchen floor.

"You need to give Frank a chance, Gee. I know you're scared of opening up to other people, but I can tell you like him. It's in your eyes, and I know that just sometimes that fake laugh you make when he talks isn't entirely fake. You just need to remember that not everyone is out to get you- it's okay to have friends. Plus, Frank likes you a lot, but he thinks you hate him, and it's hurting him, a lot. Can you at least try to be a little more civil?"

On finishing his speech, he left out the front door, not even looking back or waving good bye.

* * *

><p>"So Gerard, how was work today?" Frank beamed as I dished over-cooked, gooey broccoli onto his plate, grimacing slightly as it hit the pottery with a slap.<p>

"It was okay, how was school for you and Mikey?"

"Oh, it was alright, wasn't it Mikes? We got out of maths for some assembly thing, so I guess that was a bonus…"

I nodded lightly as I took my seat at the table. I had to admit, as much as I "despised" the boy, he had certainly improved my conversational skills, and was definitely gaining confidence by the day.

"Oh, just out of curiosity, I realised I'd never asked… where abouts in town d'you stay?"

Frank shook his head a little from side to side.

"I don't live in town. Not yet, at least. Mom's looking for a new house here though, which is why I moved schools."

"Why are you moving, may I ask?" I couldn't help but be intrigued by Frank's story.

"Oh, my Mom and Dad split up about a year ago, and she said she can't stay in the house we live in anymore because it 'is full of too many bad memories' or some shit like that… I can't blame her though, to be honest…"

I decided it would be best to leave the conversation at that. As willing as Frank was to share information and tell his story, I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable or to unveil any ghosts. I just wanted him to be happy, and know I was here to talk to.

Woops, there's me thinking about his feelings and perhaps even _liking_ him again.

There had to be something wrong with me

He wasn't safe.

"So, what are you all doing next weekend?" Frank asked, noticing that the previous conversation had come to an abrupt ending.

I shrugged, giving a gawk over to Mikey seeking for inspiration.

"I don't think we're doing anything", Mikey saved me with, "To be honest, we never really do anything…"

"Oh, well that's good!"

My brother and I both gaped at Frank, requiring enlightenment.

"It's just 'cause I'm going into New York to go shopping and crap, and y'know, since you two oddities have no life, I thought you might want to come with me?"

The three of us all began to laugh hysterically.

Oh, maybe Mikey was right. I am laughing, and it's not fake.

"Is that what we are to you?" Mikey gasped, wiping an invisible tear from his cheek, "Oddities?"

Frank simply nodded, and yet again, we were all reduced to laughter.

_Why am I laughing? Why am I laughing? Why am I laughing?_

_Fuck, please don't tell me I like this guy…_

"So, you two want to come?"

Mikey stroked his fingers against his chin, like he was grooming some sort of invisible beard.

"Despite, being hurt by your previous words, I'm going to have to accept the invitation."

"Nice! What about you, Gee?"

Suddenly, all eyes are on me, burning into my skin, digging into my soul. I can feel there scolding vision scrutinizing my ever move, trying to tease words out of me like words from a baby.

I don't want to go. I really don't. I want to be as far away from that creature as possible, for I have had enough of the disease and weakness he has brought to our household. He is nothing but a trespasser, a foreign insect burying its teeth beneath our skin and sucking us dry of blood. I want to swat him away- no- kill him forever.

But part of me wants to go. Part of me wants to spend time with the boy, get to know him more, laugh with him, touch him, feel him. Part of me longs for him like a junkie would for heroin.

He is my heroin.

I hate him- I really do- but every time I see him, it flickers a little light on in my chest, ignites something in my heart, and I have got so used to that flickering, that ignition, that I need it to function.

I need him.

"Sure, I'd love to come!"

"That's it boys- we have a date!"

I shouldn't want him- I know fine well that he's wrong. I know fine well that with him around, Mikey and I's story is going to end up in disaster. Something will go wrong; it's inevitable- he'll work us out, he'll discover our secret, he'll betray us…

But for now, I don't want to let go of him. For now, I want to keep him. I need his poison injected into my veins. I don't care about the aftermath.

But eventually, every junkie's going to overdose.


	7. Chapter 7

__**Right guys, this is the last "memory" chapter, so this should hopefully finish explaining everything. (:**

**Oh, and a big thank you to Purifying Flame for the amazing reviews! :D**

_Rain really is a fascinating thing._

_I'd never really thought about it that much, not until I was standing in my garden; shovel in hand, gallons of the stuff falling from the sky onto me in thousands of precise droplets. Each tiny globule of the liquid had its own cataclysmic effect, penetrating through my clothing and soaking my once dry skin, sticking my hair to my face like it was a second skin. Everything about me was muggy with the substance. _

_The curious thing, however, was how mysterious the rain drops were. They could have come from anywhere in the world. They could have originated in the oozy depths of the Amazon Rainforest, or even somewhere most close to home. Perhaps the beads rain had once been the tears of my own woes- dried up and long forgotten._

_And also; the rain didn't care about you. It didn't consider things from anyone else's point of view- it simply wanted to fall- it didn't care how or on whom. It didn't care if it ruined your day, or if it demolished your plans- it had a mind of its own and did what it wanted. That night, it was stopping me from what _I _was trying to do._

_Not that I really had any Idea what I was doing. All I knew was that I was digging._

_Digging a hole._

_Digging a hole that was the perfect size to hide a body in._

_As the blade of the shovel squelched into the waterlogged ground, I could only prey that it would be finished by morning. I couldn't let anyone find out. Not a soul._

_Especially not Mikey._

_I wasn't really sure what I was hiding- I wasn't the killer, was I?- but it was already too late to turn back, as the hole was three foot deep and beginning to brim with water- water that I had to bucket out in order to stop the walls of the grave from caving in on itself._

_So that's what it was- A grave._

_I was digging my own father's grave._

_Because I was the one that murdered him._

_Maybe it wasn't me __**hands on**__ that killed him, but I couldn't help but think of how he may have still been alive, if I had just plucked up the courage to tell someone what I had witnessed only a night previously. If I had just _talked_, my father would be alive and well._

_I may as well have picked up the knife and stabbed him myself._

_In my head, I am a murderer. I am a brutal, cold-blooded psychopath. I should be locked up, chained up, caged up. I don't deserve my freedom anymore._

_Dropping, the shovel by my side, creating a splash as it lands in a puddle, soaking my pyjama pants in groggy water, I return back inside to retrieve the body-to retrieve my father._

_He now lies on the sofa, moved from his previous location of the bedroom; a dusty painting sheet placed over his body, like it would _really_ hide the fact there's a corpse in the house if someone were to enter. Carefully, I pull the rag down a little, only revealing his face. I feel sick again, but I hold it down- I want this moment to count._

"_I love you, daddy…"_

_My voice is barely audible, but it doesn't have to be- nobody needs to hear me. The only person who needs to hear me is dead and will never be able to hear me again._

_So I keep my voice low- so low only shadows can descript my words._

"…_I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I could have stopped this- I could have stopped them from killing you… I'm so sorry; I love you so much…"_

_Nothing. I expected there to be some sort of change- a flicker in the lighting, a slight alteration to the temperature, a variation in the atmosphere- but there was nothing. I guess the shadows just weren't listening to me._

_Placing the sheet back over his face, I began to pull his body towards the patio doors leading out towards his final resting place. He is heavy- partly because of my lack in upper body strength, partly because the copious mud of the garden was weighing him down, sticking to the body and dragging it away with me, like the earth wanted to claim him as its own._

_But the earth didn't have to worry. It would have him soon enough._

_Abandoning the tatter clad corpse by the side of the grave, I began to bucket out all of the water that had seeped into the hole. It wasn't very deep- barely four foot, if it was lucky- but it was enough to catch the splashing rainwater and contain it like a lake, crumbling away the walls like the plaster from the ceiling of a rotting building, peeling with a putrefying stench of damp. It was enough to ruin my plans._

_Once I was content with the water levels of the grave, I pulled the sheets off the carcase and slowly, safely, steadily pushed it into the hole, grimacing slightly at the squelch as it hit the sopping floor. The grave was drenched, just like me, in the rain. It would never be dry again._

_I would never be dry again._

_Yes, I could change my clothes, towel dry my hair, but the rain had drenched me deep down in my heart, into unreachable places, soaking me past the point of creating comprehensible thoughts. It would stay with me now, forever, like would my sorrows and despairs. They would change me into a creature I could never change back from. Like from the rain, I would never quite dry off from their actions._

_Digging my shovel into the mound of dirt by my side, I began to heave the grit into the hole of rotting flesh and bones. I would imprison it forever._

_And that was why I imprisoned myself._

_I had destroyed a life. Maybe I did not commit the murder, but I could have easily prevented it. So I only did what was fair- on me, on Mikey, on my father- I imprisoned myself. Not in jail or behind bars or in lock and chain, but in my head._

_I wasn't going to tell anyone what happened. I mean, how could I? I had just buried my own father, so would it not be obvious that I was the murderer? I wouldn't even tell Mikey- I would lie, say something like "Oh, they all moved to Australia, they're moving back in a couple of years…" he was young enough to still believe that crap. I would raise him like he was my child, not my kid brother by a few years. I would leave school, go get myself a job, still providing him with the life any child deserved- education, food, shelter, a loving family…_

_But I would separate us- particularly myself- from the rest of the world. It would be too dangerous to make contact with other people. They could find out our secret._

_It was easy. I would imprison myself in a contorted mangle of secrets and lies, strangling myself with confinement, separating myself from humanity. It was the perfect punishment._

_As I piled the last shovel full of dirt over the grave, I could really tell what was streaming down my face any more- rain water or tears?_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Ughhh..._**

**I apologise for how shit this chapter is- It's official, I suck at writing "action" scenes.**

I'd never been to New York before.

In fact, I'd never really left New Jersey before. It was all I knew.

But I liked New York, from the little I had seen of it so far. I liked the way the air was thick with smoke, but not like the smoke in Jersey. The smoke in Jersey was abrasive and noxious and scratched away at the back of your lungs and throat like someone taking a chisel to a woodblock, but the smoke here was soothing, numbing almost.

I liked the way the afternoon sunlight sparkled across the damp paving, causing ripples of light and reflecting colour. In Jersey, everything was too dull to shimmer.

In short, New York was magical. It was post card-perfect, just like in the movies. All I wanted to do was sing and dance and scream and shout, but I realised that I would only be making a mockery of myself and the two men on either side of me.

"So, you liking New York then, Gee?"

I turned my head to face Frank, nodding as I downed the last of the contents from my Starbucks cup, discarding the empty container in a nearby bin.

"It's amazing! Even better than I expected!"

Frank grinned wildly. "I thought you'd like it… So where to next, buckaroo?"

Gazing around the busy high street, laced with hectic shoppers and stubborn businessmen, I attempted to make a decision on the next store we would make an appearance in. My bags were already heavily laden with CD's, books and the likes, so I decided it would only be acceptable if I left our trip with some sort of practical purchase, possibly in the form of clothes.

"Why don't we take a look in some of the little side streets? See is there are any decent clothes stores?"

"Sounds like a plan to me, captain!" Frank replied with a jovial sailor's salute.

As we made our way through the crowds, it came to my attention that not once had I worried about Frank during our day together. Not once had I thought _'Oh, I shouldn't be spending time with him' _or _'Surely he's going to kidnap us and torture us until we tell him the secret?'_ No, all I had thought about today was how lovely it was to be out, how lovely it was to see the world, how lovely it was to spend time with friends…

How lovely it was to be with Frank.

We'd been walking in comfortable silence for quite a considerable time when Mikey stopped, mouth gawping and drooling, outside the window of yet another record store.

"Please, Gerard, can I go in? I'll only be a minute, I promise…"

"Mikey, this is the third fuckin' store today! Sure you can go in, but I'm staying outside…"

Mikey beamed, briefly followed by him darting towards the door and pushing himself inside, a notable spring in his step. A watched patiently, expecting the door to be pushed open yet again as Frank followed him inwards, but was surprised when Frank stayed by my side.

"You're not going in with Mikey?"

Frank shook his head into the ground, before tilting his head upwards, blushing slightly through his fringe.

"Nah, I feel like staying out here with you if that's okay…"

I nodded slowly.

Gazing around our surroundings, I pulled a packet of cigarettes from my jacket pocket, placing one in the firm grip of my lips. This part of the town was quiet, I noted, and it seemed a little dubious, if I had to add.

Signalling the box of cigarettes towards Frank, I watched as he pulled a single stick from the box.

"So, how's things doing with finding a house?" I questioned after lighting the fag, sighing slightly at the ghostly delicious feeling of nicotine filling my lugs.

"I don't know, to be honest. Mom's been too busy with work recently to be looking much…"

Leaning closer to the boy, I held out my lighter to light his cigarette, the spark being sheltered from the slight city breeze by his gloved hand.

"…But I don't know. I think if she can't find anywhere within the next few weeks, I'm going to have to change back schools again. The travel fairs are just too fuckin' expensive."

My face fell as I comprehended his words, my jaw bobbing up and down slightly, my eyes flickering around wildly.

_This is a blessing. Why are you so upset? This is a blessing. You should be fucking celebrating._

"Really? Man, that sucks. I'm going to fucking miss you if you leave. I've grown to like having you around…"

"I know", Frank sighed, letting out the smoke from his lungs in a single, long exhale, "I really like you. I'd have loved to have got to know you a lot better. From what I can see so far, you seem like one really fuckin' amazing guy."

My face began to tint toward scarlet as I dropped the last of my fag to the ground, stamping on it and watching at the smoulders fainted, Frank copying simultaneously. On looking back up, I noticed footsteps.

There was a figure, heading on its way down the side street.

It was male, or so I presumed, but from such a distance that was all I could tell.

"Is it just me or does that guy look like someone you just wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of?"

Grunting, I nodded in agreement with Frank's statement. There was just something about him, something quite unsettling. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something about it sparked fear in my eyes, sent shivers down my spine.

Yet, there was something all too familiar about him.

Something about the way he walked- kind of slouched, stumbling, like he was drunk- or perhaps by the way his eyes, although distant, seemed sincere, like they were set on the kill.

That was when I noticed that his pace began to speed up.

Like he was heading in our direction.

That was when I noticed that he reminded me of my uncle.

The same uncle that tried to kill me years previously.

"Shit, Frank! We need to go, like now."

"What? But Mikey's still-"

Before he could finish his statement, I grabbed him by the hand, dragging him into a small alleyway between two shops.

"Gee, where are we going?"

I could hear the panic rising in his voice, questioning our movements, as we darted through the tiny side street, still unsure of where we were heading. I tried to sound calm, but you could hear the terror breaking the skin of my voice and seeping up to the surface.

"We need to get away from him…"

"Why?"

"Don't ask questions, just fucking follow me…"

"What about Mikey?"

My face fell slightly, from the sincere look of concentration, to a small flicker of worry.

"He'll be fine…"

I knew he'd be fine. If my uncle hadn't had the guts to kill him all those years ago, when the child was weak and the time was right, then why would he want to do it so badly now?

Looking back with every other step, I could see that we were still being followed, and the follower had picked up quite a tremendous pace. No matter how fast I travelled, no matter how quickly the buildings and bricks and garbage cans flashed past, he was going to corner us eventually.

"Frank, run ahead…"

"What?"

Gasping for breath, I lean against the back wall of the alley way, signalling for Frank to run into a tiny gap in the crumbling brickwork, leading towards God knows where, but at least it would be safer than here.

"Just go, please, for me?"

"But… I can't leave you…"

Before Frank could argue any further, I had slipped my hand out of his grasp, bushing him into the small opening, making my way back up the alley way towards my worst nightmare. I was going to greet the creature that had burned everything I had and danced in the ashes.

"Hello, sweetheart…"

He was just like I remembered- gritty, intoxicated and pungent. The only changes were that his hair had thinned to a light scattering of salt and pepper hairs and that the lines on his brow were deeper set and more prominent than they had once been.

I can't reply to him. I simply gulp and tighten my grip on the invisible knife in my palms. It's times like this I pray for weapons, or some form of protection.

"You should be dead. I killed you."

I bite on my lip.

"Okay, I'll make this easy- painless almost. I'm going to take this fucking switchblade", he took a penknife from his jacket pocket, displaying the glinting silver in the dusky sunlight, "and slit your fucking throat with it… Simple?"

My mouth bobs up and down as I back away, yet the predator edges closer.

"W-w-why do y-you want to kill me s-so badly?"

My uncle grins sadistically.

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to take care of some unfinished business…"

"B-but why do you want m-me dead but not M-m-Mikey?"

Suddenly, his face falls into a crumpled, disgruntled mess, as he storms towards me in what feels like a flash.

"THAT'S IT YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

Suddenly, everything is in slow motion, like I'm underwater, floating- a dream like stance- or I am watching everything from above, like flicking through a photo album, observing every little movement and twist in extreme detail. Every time he lurches forward, every time I attempt to block a punch, every inch he brings the switchblade closer… It was like my reflexes and my mind were working separately, neither quite moving at the right speed, neither quite understanding that it was my _own _life on the line here.

The switchblade moves closer still. My pulse races. I wait. Death is only a thing I've dealt with too many times before.

But something changes.

Something in the atmosphere. A new set of fist are added to the equation. I'm not quite sure what happens, but the next thing I see is red. Red everywhere. Red, spurting from arteries and soaking through clothing. I reach my hand up to my throat, trying to stop the bleeding. But I can't.

I've not been wounded.

I fall back to the ground, and I believe that I pass out for a minute or so, but I can't be sure. Frank is kneeling by my side when I wake, kissing my cheeks, my forehead, my jawline, leaving a smeared trail of diluted red along my skin. Our fingers are entwined like we could never let go, the tears rolling down Frank's cheeks only a reminder of what just happened.

"It's okay. Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Who is he? Why did he try to hurt you? He didn't do anything to you? Are you sure you're okay?"

I lean up, only to find myself throwing up on the paving beside me in a short, sweaty mess, Frank rubbing my back and whispering encouraging words into my ear. I meet his eyes as I look back up, a kiss being placed upon my still vomit coated lips. It's messy, twisted, short-lived- but it's a kiss alright.

"Is he dead?"


	9. Chapter 9

**So just to let you know, this is the second last chapter. There will be like one more after this, but that's going to be it! xD**

**Also, throughout the whole time I was writing this I had a song called "A Little Irony" by Tom Milsom. I'll try and post a link to it underneath this, but if it doesn't work I would love it if you could check out his youtube channel Hexachordal. He's honestly one of the most talented men in the world! :D**

** .com/watch?v=iQzYGydeE68&ob=av3e**

* * *

><p>"D'you want me to make some coffee?"<p>

I nod sluggishly as I watch Frank clamber down the stairs and enter the kitchen, flicking the switch of the kettle on and sitting down beside me.

"Is Mikey okay?"

Frank smiles- maybe even giggles slightly- as he answers me.

"Yeah, he's fine- just tired and confused I think. This has got to have been pretty stressful for him…"

I nod as I watch the kettle click off from boil, Frank rising from his seat at the kitchen table to retrieve a mug and jar of instant coffee from a cupboard above his head, spooning the grainy substance into the porcelain vessel that would ship me the cargo that was a good helping of caffeine.

"He must be so scared. It's my entire fault…"

Frank is down by my side in an instant, slipping the mug into my hand, milk already added, turning the water a delicious shade of creamy brown, and linking his fingers around mine, brushing a strand of inky hair from my eyes.

"No, it wasn't- it was that man's. But please, tell me who he was, will you?"

His words were soothing, like honey slipping down a sore throat, and comforted me, making me feel like I was lying in the restful confinements of the clouds. Yet, there was still part of me that was terrified to tell him everything, terrified that I would slip through my cloudy bed and fall, as in the end, it was nothing but water particles.

Frank removes his hand from mine, reaching up to wipe my cheek, wiping a stray tear that had slipped from my eye.

"Please, honey, tell me what's happening. I want to know what's happening in that crazy head of yours. I want to help you".

So I told him everything. I told him everything from the day my Uncle came over to present time, struggling to get by with the little wages I earned. I was scared- no, terrified- at what his reaction might be, all possible scenarios running through my head like tiny snippets of horror movies firing through my mind at a hundred miles an hour.

But through the whole thing, Frank never once looked creeped out or judgemental. Even when I told him about the burying of my own father's body, he simply nodded and continued to listen. It was like he didn't care if I was a freak, or even a murderer, he only cared about who I really was. He only cared about _me._

And I only cared about him.

At this moment in time, I didn't care about any secrets or lies or fears, right now all I cared about was the fact I was happy, or the closest to happy I had ever been.

"So you don't think I'm a freak?"

"Actually, you are a freak…"

My face crumpled along with my heart.

"…but that's what I like about you."

I didn't say anything else. I didn't need to. Words are over-rated. Sometimes the best way to explain feelings is with actions.

Like, the best way to show love is with a kiss.

So I kissed him.

It wasn't at all like our last kiss- our last kiss had been rushed, wary, perhaps even an act of fear, simply wanting to prove that we were still alive. This was almost the opposite, however. This was full of longing, passion and fulfilment.

It was like a fairy tale kiss- I nervously placed my lips on his, quivering as I felt my chapped skin meet his, delicate like raindrops resting on rose buds, his lips as cherry-tinted and soft as the bloom. His eyes trembling shut, reaching a hand to the back of my neck, I parted my lips slightly. The feeling of butterflies devoured my senses as I felt his tongue flutter against my own, filling my taste buds with the delicious flavour of Frank. I won't be clichéd- he didn't taste like sugar or sex or cigarette smoke, he simply tasted like Frank, and that was the way I liked it. It was an unmistakable flavour, like nothing I had tasted before. I doubted I would taste anything else like it.

We were nervous, or at least I myself was, but that little fact failed to shadow the beauty of the kiss we were sharing. I shared a kiss with Frank, just like I shared a secret. Two things I had never experienced before were experienced with only a matter of mere moments between them, and it was only there, my arms around his waist, lips pressed against his own that I realised, a secret cannot be a secret unless you share it with someone. A secret that you bottle up within yourself, doesn't even exist, as what lies within the foundations of a secret, is trust.

Just like a kiss, you need two people to form it.

His eyes met mine, twinkling gently as moonlight bounced in from the kitchen window, reflecting of his skin and illuminating it like an exotic form of candle light. I don't want to say he's beautiful, because that word is not enough to sum him up- it is something deeper than that, something that not only describes his surface, but also deep down into his core, defining every little flaw and perfection in his personality- but beautiful, to this day, is still the closest word I can think of.

"You will tell Mikey, won't you?"

I nod as I bite my lip, still slightly breath taken.

"Yeah… I'll explain everything to him in the morning, but for just now, I'll let him sleep. He needs it."

Frank smiles that warm, welcoming, cheesy smile of his, and I have hope. I really do need to tell Mikey about everything- through all these years I have been nothing but a liar and a cheat, and he deserves to know what really happened to his parents at the least. Part of me is terrified that he will hate me, that he will reject me, hold a grudge against me, but as soon as Frank smiles, I get a little flicker of hope, and suddenly I think it's all going to be okay.

"So, what are we going to do about the body?"

Suddenly, I am reminded of the body that had once tried to kill me, which Frank had killed in order to save me, that we had sneaked back in the boot of a taxi and was now lying, face down, on my living room sofa. My uncle's body.

I smile.

"C'mon, let's go get the shovel."


	10. Chapter 10

**Umm, yeah... So this is the last chapter guys- I hope you enjoyed it! please leave reviews and stuff telling me what you thought!**

Mikey takes his seat at the dinner table and reaches over for the jug of juice, his hand trembling a little under the weight.

"So how was school today?"

Mikey looks up at the sound of Frank's mother's voice.

"It was great actually! How was work?"

Frank's mother smiles. Her eyes look weary- maybe tired- yet there is a feeling of peace, perhaps even harmony, radiating from the heavy orbs garnishing her face.

"Oh you know, just the usual. But at least things are less stressful now- I owe you guys that!"

I can't help but smile as she says this, looking round the table at the three faces that seclude me from the pain- Mikey, Frank's mom and Frank himself. She's right- things may not be perfect, but things _are_ less stressful now.

Things are easier for all of us- Frank and his mother moved in with us. It was the simplest thing for all of us to do- not only did it give Frank's mother a place to stay where she didn't have to relive horrific memories every day or force Frank to change back to his old school, but it made it easier for bills to be paid, the money being chipped in by both families as opposed to by just me.

Of course, she didn't know any of the secrets.

We couldn't tell her- that was just stupid, unless we were planning on getting caught or have her drag her son out of our home and lives, screaming that we were satanic worshipping freak children - but I had explained everything to Mikey. His reaction was better than expected- yes, there were a couple of days where he didn't talk to me, refused to look me in the eye, but he got over it, or at least more used to it, eventually, and now, we seemed to be closer than ever before.

I'm still not quite sure what's happening between Frank and I. Neither of us has said that we're officially dating, but I've got a feeling that it's just a factor needless to be pointed out. I mean, we have been kissing and, y'know, doing _stuff_, but neither of us has asked the other out or signed the dotted line in blood, putting our hearts in firing range to simply call the other "boyfriend". Though, I don't suppose you have to when you blow each other off every other night…

Mikey's picked up on it too. He hasn't physically said ,"Oh, I know what's going on between you and Frank", but he has suggested it- like simply accepting the fact that he _should not_ disturb us when we go down to my room together or making no obvious reaction when he sees us occasionally peck each other on the cheek in front of him.

We're not going to tell Frank's mother though. Not because we don't think she would accept us, but because we don't think she would be so happy with us sharing a bedroom any more…

So, really, I have no idea what's going on between me and Frank. I guess we're just going to have to see how things work out.

He did tell me he loved me though, once. We were just sitting one night, in my bedroom, smoking cigarettes in silence, watching as the strings of misty grey drifted skywards, twisting through the air like doves dancing the ballet of youth and independence, the fragrance kissing our senses with a subtle hint of malice. He just went out and said it, so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He said it in a voice so calm and level, like he was telling me that he was going to order a pizza or that we needed to buy more kitchen cleaner or that he was wearing the same pair of socks two days in a row. It was almost like it was meaningless.

I really do hope he did mean it though. I really hoped he meant it because I think I love him back. I don't really know what love feels like, but I do know that every time he smiles, my chest bursts open, like a thousand butterflies are breaking free from the enclosure that was my ribcage, and any time he cries, a little part of me cries along with him. Something inside me dies, slowly withering away as I mop up his tears and whisper that everything is going to be okay- protecting him from the harsh realities of the world. I want him to be safe, I don't want another soul to lay a finger in him, because their nails might jab and break his skin- they might hurt him. I don't want him to shed another droplet of blood or another trembling tear. I just want him to be happy, whatever or wherever he ends up.

I think that's what love is, or at least it better be, because I told him that I loved him too.

I don't know what's going to happen next. To be honest, I don't think I want to know what's going to happen next. All my life, I have planned every little step with precise intricacy, but right now, all I want to do is breath. I no longer want to be trapped in a cage of worry and doubt, I want to spread my wings, break free from my past and fly away, to a new, better way of life. I couldn't care less about the future; I only want to think about the moment.

Who knows what will happen in the next chapter of my life? Maybe, as the pages turn and I get deep into the novel that is my life I will grow more and more attached to Frank, maybe one day we'll get married or adopt kids or move to a foreign country, escaping our memories.

Or maybe Frank and I will fall out in a couple of chapter's time. He might cheat on me, with some guy he goes to school with, and I will have to throw him and his mother out, leaving them to roam the streets, leaving nothing but guilt to dwindle in my heart as I watch them starve and freeze and age in the hollow place they like to call the world.

Or maybe as soon as I turn over-leaf, the cops will turn up on my door step, dig up the garden to find the bodies and throw us in prison for life.

It could happen. They're just a toe dipping into the pool of possibilities of my life.

The water's lukewarm. Not steamy and warm like a hot tub, but not quite the freezing depths of the Arctic Ocean. It's just lukewarm. But I like lukewarm; I like it a lot.

Lukewarm is unpredictable, unpredictable like life, unpredictable like the great outdoors. It feels good to venture out into life. It feels good not to be homebound.

I like unpredictable.

I let my eyes wander around the kitchen table again, taking in everything- Frank's Mom clearing up the dishes, Mikey grinning as he shovels pizza into his gob, Frank's eyes meeting mine as he giggles, sensing my optimism. I can't help but smile, I really can't.

"You look happy, Gee!"

"Of course I do, Frankie! I'm surrounded by everything I've ever wished for".

Friends. Family. Freedom.

It's not perfect- it's far from that tailored depiction of ideal that people create in fairy tales, but it's as close to it as it's ever going to be.

Nothing is ordinary anymore.


End file.
